


Let the fire breathe me back to life

by thatchickwiththepigtails



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, On Hiatus, What else is new, but just for one night, pete's stupid and patrick's stubborn, specifically the end of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchickwiththepigtails/pseuds/thatchickwiththepigtails
Summary: But lines flow, they sprout straight from his mind to the paper, there’s no time to polish or smooth them; Patrick wants his song now and he wants it raw, hard and painful.Or that one time Patrick actually talked. For real.





	Let the fire breathe me back to life

Patrick is alone in bed, in the middle of a depressive moment, alone, alone, alone. Abandoned, drunk, but he can’t stop writing. Elisa’s been out of the house for a month now, she says she needs space to think, she needs a world to forget. It’s over, isn’t’ it? Without Elisa, without Andy and Joe, without his parents, without… Without anyone telling him drinking in bed is a bad idea, drinking at ten a.m. is a bad idea, keep going with his life like this is a bad idea. But lines flow, they sprout straight from his mind to the paper, there’s no time to polish or smooth them; Patrick wants his song now and he wants it raw, hard and painful. He’s been up all night pulling out accords, mixing tunes, and the only thing left is making words and music come together. The music that’s been chasing him for a month; the words that have been stuck in his head for years.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, FUCK” he just read his new song again, but it’s not a song for him, it’s a song for them. His musicians could never play it, they’re great but it’s not for them, it’s for His Band. For his friends. For the men he hasn’t talked to in more than a year and that he won’t see until…

“Who the fuck is it now?” the doorbell rang just once and, after a second, twice, and again, and again, and it won’t stop. Patrick takes his time going down the stairs because, who could it be that is so important? Pete, crying to reunite the band? Elisa, moping to come back to him? Yeah, they sure are.

And still, he never was more wrong while opening a door. The petit body fell over the welcome mat, freezing, tipped jeans and a stupid t-shirt covered by the snow, smiling and half unconscious. Patrick is forced to drag him in towards a blanket, a coffee and a change of clothes. Towards regaining consciousness.

“You asshole, what are you doing here?” Patrick warmly murmurs, hugging his old friend. It’s a weird hug, bonier than usual, but it’s a healing hug.

“Movie night?” Pete jokes, trying to find some courage.

“Movie night my ass, Pete; when will you learn to pack a suitcase?” Pete’s eyes lighten up with nostalgia before coming back to Chicago’s cold black winter. He breathes in deeply and explodes:

“Ashley’s gone. Ashley’s gone, Hemmy’s dead and I live on a mansion full of memories. Of us, what we were, what we wanted to be. What I wanna be, Patrick. What I need. I need… I need you.

“Pete, I…” Patrick tries to start, teardrops mixed with a headache, but he is interrupted:

“You’re my half, Trick. You’re my voice, my sound, all of you are. And I need you. This morning I woke up with the mental image of the band, back together, and I don’t know how to live without it. I want us to come back. You are my air, Patrick!” Pete’s voice dissolves into a whisper. “Help me breathe.”

Patrick is both devastated and eager; he doesn’t know what to reply. An hour ago, nothing was better than the idea of getting the band back together, playing with his friends, traveling with his friends. But meeting Pete, touching Pete, hugging Pete… All those emotions he’s bee suppressing for years, they now run and scream like teenage hormones, bringing him back to his sixteen: acne, sideburns and the most stupid of crushes are what’s in once again.

“Don’t move” he asks before running to the studio and picking an acoustic guitar. When he’s back, Pete has stolen paper and pencil; he’s drawing a crown again and again.

“I’ve been all night working on this; but this is not a Patrick Stump song, it’s a Fall Out Boy song.” Delicate notes float around the room, trembling at first, firmer later.

“I know I’m the one you want to forget.  
Cue all the love to leave my heart,  
It’s time for me to fall apart.”

A single teardrop rolls over Pete’s cheek as his friend finishes his song:

“Baby, you were my picket fence.  
I miss missing you now and then.”

“Pete, I need you to listen to me for once in your life” Patrick takes impulse and he won’t allow Pete to interrupt him. “You’re right, I need the band too. I don’t wanna be a solo artist, I don’t wanna be a solo drunk, I don’t wanna be solo while in a band. But I would come back to the band with you, I would get drunk with you, I would be a solo artist. If it’s with you.”

“I don’t understand, Patrick.”

“What is it that you don’t understand? “Whisky eyes”? That ain’t clear? Is “summer skin” too subtle? For fuck’s sake, Pete! Think a little, asshole! I’ve been in love with you since 2004 and you don’t notice yet!”

The older one smirks at his friend’s fake anger: he knows him too well, him and his nervous red face, so he know his shouts are not ill-intended; maybe frustrated. He lightly takes one of Patrick agitating hands, now so sharp and thin, so different to how they were, but the same ones from his memories. He takes the other one and, without thinking, he kisses the knuckles, the top, the back, the wrist. The blond one freezes for a fraction of a second, while his head screams to his melted heart for him to react and cuddle next to Pete’s blanket.

“I understand that” the last one explains as he plants a trail of kisses on Patrick’s head. “I don’t understand you. I didn’t realize? What about you? The one who’s spent half your life singing love songs about yourself.” His partner tries to reply, but a new kiss very close to his ear makes him stop. “Yeah, it’s true, I’ve always pushed you away; I know, I was there too. ‘Cause I was afraid of you loving me; of not being able of loving you above the waist, of not being enough. I was afraid of the truth. But now… Now I’m only afraid of not having you by my side.”

“Then it’s your lucky day, because I don’t want to ever push you away.”

**Author's Note:**

> title obviously taken from miss missing you.  
> I once read those lyrics where written by patrick, I'm not sure if it's real but every time I listen to the song this headcannon pops in my mind so whatever


End file.
